Sweet Fire

by Jo Goodman

  “Have done with it, Nathan,” she said tightly, marshaling her defenses.

  “No,” he said. “Not like that.”

  Lydia averted her face as his mouth tried to capture hers. He accepted the line of her neck and touched her skin lightly with his mouth. She moved restlessly against him, wanting and not wanting, and when she turned her head to tell him what she thought he was waiting for, his lips closed over hers and he pressed the opening she gave him. The kiss was deep and hot and the contact of their mouths was punishing.

  Nathan felt the change in Lydia’s response. Her anger transformed her and she wanted him to know it. She arched against him, breaking the hold he had on her wrists. Her arms curved around his back and she brought his weight full against her.

  “You want me?” he asked. His voice was whiskey smooth.

  “I want,” she said.

  Lydia’s fingers curled like talons and she felt Nathan’s shudder as her nails caressed his back. Her movement under him was graceful and feline, the sound at the back of her throat part seduction, part contentment.

  Nathan sat up. His hands were impatient as he parted Lydia’s robe and pushed up her gown. He knelt between her thighs and leaned forward, kissing her first on the lips, then between her breasts where the last button on her nightgown had been opened. His mouth moved lower as the gown inched upward. She felt his lips on her skin just above her navel, then his tongue making a damp trail across the taut plane of her belly, and finally his mouth was exploring her intimately, touching and tasting her with such sweet purpose that Lydia’s fingers stopped clutching the sheet and threaded in Nathan’s hair.

  She was moist and hot, ready for him, but Nathan’s attention remained unrelenting, forcing another response from Lydia so that while she was urged closer to the edge she was never quite allowed to reach it. She raised her knees, pressing her heels into the mattress, and just when she thought he only meant to torture her with his touch, he raised himself up and unfastened his trousers.

  Lydia wanted to deny him, deny herself. She did neither. When he thrust into her she met him and when he began to withdraw her long legs wrapped around him, holding him to her. She moved with him, her body arching almost violently as he came into her deeply and drew out her hunger and her need.

  She marked his back with her nails as he came at her harder and harder, as if he were angry, too. The set of his features was harder than his thrusts. His skin was pulled taut over the bones of his face, and his eyes were silver and piercing, dark mirrors at the center and like shields at the outer edge. A cord in his neck stood out as his throat was arched. He closed his eyes and his entire body shuddered release. Lydia felt it, thought it was passing from him into her, and then realized it was her body that was shattering, her senses that were igniting and sparking and exploding.

  Her eyes were dry and gritty, which was odd, she thought, since she had never felt more like crying. She turned her head aside as Nathan moved away from her. She shoved her nightgown back over her legs while Nathan fastened his trousers. Reaching to the bedside table, she turned back the wick so the room’s muted yellow light was extinguished, then shifted completely to her side so that Nathan’s piercing eyes couldn’t see any part of her face.

  Nathan sighed. He lay on his back, his head cradled in his palms, and stared at the ceiling much as Lydia had done earlier. What had any of it proved? He’d forced a response from her but not for him. He hadn’t been able to make her say she wanted him. How had it been possible on the Avonlei? Until the end, when frustration and anger at her denial had overridden his good sense, he had touched her just as he had on the Avonlei. He had caressed her in the manner he knew she enjoyed, kissed her in just the way that gave her the greatest pleasure. He knew every inch of her body, delighted in it, worshiped it, and yet he hadn’t been able to make her say she wanted him.

  He turned on his side and drew the bedcovers over himself and Lydia. She remained stiff and motionless beside him, flinching only momentarily when he laid his hand over her hip. He let it rest there, allowing her to get used to it rather than remove it.

  He had no clear idea of what he wanted to say to her, only that he couldn’t let things stand as they were. “Lydia?”

  She didn’t answer. She forced her breathing to be even and calm.

  “I know you’re not sleeping.”

  “I’d like to,” she said.

  He hesitated. “I could promise you now that this won’t happen again,” he said softly, “but I think it would probably be a lie.”

  There was such a long pause before he continued that Lydia thought it was all he intended to say. “I’m listening.”

  Nathan drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know you thought it was your money that brought us together. I suppose there’s even some truth to that because it was as Irish’s daughter that you were important to me. But all that was ever required was that you take my name, and I’ve known almost from the beginning that it wasn’t going to be enough. I find you desirable, Lydia. I always have. You’re so beautiful to me that I ache when I look at you.”

  The tears that would not come before fell now. They dripped out of the corners of Lydia’s dark eyes and splattered silently on her pillow. How long had she wanted to hear someone say she was beautiful and mean it? All her life it seemed. And now, hearing it, she understood at last how unimportant it was. She did not know if she was crying for herself, or for Nathan, or from the pain of this new awareness. Lydia jammed her fist against her mouth to keep from sobbing aloud.

  Nathan was saying quietly, “I don’t want a marriage in name only. I can’t live like that. Not with you here in this house. Not even for a year.”

  She nodded once and when she had control she whispered, “I understand.”

  It was the middle of the night when Lydia turned to him. She had been laying there, her buttocks cradled against his thighs, and she could feel the hardness of him pressing against her. He was naked now, in both his body and his need, but he made no move to touch her. She thought he was sleeping until she turned and saw that his eyes were open. The silver-blue veil of moonlight caressed the planes of his face and his shoulder. His eyes darted over her, grazing her mouth once, then again, longer the second time, before lifting to hold her gaze.

  “I’m not going to do anything about it,” he said, thinking of how much he wanted her right now.

  “Even if I asked you to?”

  Nathan’s entire body jerked in reaction as her hands disappeared under the covers and sought out his arousal. She stroked him the way he had taught her to and when it wasn’t enough for either of them her mouth replaced her hands. She loved him as she had on Avonlei, with the tenderness of feeling that had engaged her heart and soul, and only one of them understood that everything she did for him was in the way of saying good-bye.

  When Nathan woke in the morning he found the space in the bed beside him was cold. It was a cruel way to greet the day, he thought, turning over sleepily. Lydia should have been there next to him. Her fragrance was still in the pillow. He smiled, burying his face against it. Memories of her middle-of-the-night loving assailed him. God, how sweet she had been, how giving. Her hands gliding over him…the caress of her mouth...

  The pillow muffled Nathan’s groan. He shook his head, laughed at himself for such torturous thoughts, and sat up. Tossing the pillow behind him, he threw his legs over the side and stretched his arms wide. Naked, he padded to the washstand and poured fresh water into the basin. He washed quickly, shaved, and dressed, eager to join Lydia at the breakfast table. He would tease her about letting him sleep so long, but he would make certain neither Irish nor Molly heard him.

  He would whisper it in her ear and they would have to wonder at the cause of the beautiful peach blush. It would be a secret, his and Lydia’s alone.

  He was still smiling when he entered the dining room. Lydia wasn’t there. Irish was. Nathan felt an immediate pang of disappointment. Nodding briefly at Irish, he fil
led his plate at the sideboard and sat down.

  “Lydia’s already eaten breakfast?” he asked.

  Irish’s reply was short, his humor black. “Apparently.”

  Nathan’s brows lifted a little. “Are you in pain this morning?”

  “Why the bloody hell should you care?”

  “All right, Irish,” Nathan said. He put down his fork and leaned back in his chair. “Suppose you tell me right now what’s going on. I’m sure I don’t have any idea.”

  “Oh, no? Perhaps this will help.” Irish reached in his vest pocket and pulled out Lydia’s opal wedding ring. It lay in the flat of his calloused palm, smooth and iridescent and delicate, in startling contrast to the hand that held it. “I found it in my strongbox this morning. There was a note with it, addressed to you. I read it.”

  Nathan imagined he could feel the color draining from his face. His stomach knotted. There was nothing in his experience that hurt as badly as what he felt now. He’d been beaten and starved and exhausted and flogged and he would have accepted any of those things, or all four, in order to take away the white-hot tangle of pain inside him. He reached for the ring, surprised that his hand didn’t tremble when he felt as if he were shaking all over.

  Irish snatched his hand back, concealing the ring in a tight fist. “It’s mine,” he said coldly. “She left it in exchange for the money she took out of the box and the horse she took from the stable.”

  “May I see her note? You said it was meant for me.”

  Putting the ring back in his pocket, Irish pulled out a square of paper that had been neatly folded in half. He flicked it at Nathan. “How the hell did you manage it?” he demanded angrily. “One evening back from the bush and you undo everything I’ve worked for these past twenty years, everything I shared with my daughter this past week. She would have stayed at Ballaburn if it wasn’t for you!”

  Nathan felt as if he had been struck, then struck again. His chair scraped noisily against the floor as he pushed away from the table. Clutching the note in his hand he stood and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him as he left.

  Without having any direction in mind, Nathan turned his back on the house and walked. And kept on walking. The morning was briskly cool and he wasn’t wearing a coat, but he hardly noticed the chill, he was that numb.

  He stopped when he reached the crest of Wallaroo Hill. He sat in a sliver of sunlight beneath a red gum tree. The house at Ballaburn was far below him, a gemstone set on a bed of emerald velvet. As far as he could see was the land that was promised him, the broad fields and meadows, the blackberry thickets, the ice-blue water and endless sky. All his. Nathan laughed and the taste and sound of it was bitter.

  He stared at Lydia’s note for a long time before he unfolded it and smoothed it over his drawn-up knee. In spite of that precaution, the words blurred. He read:

  I did indeed understand the import of your words last evening. You see, Nathan, I do not think I am suited to a marriage such as I suggested. You proved that to me and then I proved it to myself. Knowing your feelings, knowing my own, and sharing a conviction, I hope, that divorce is out of the question, it is apparent that leaving Ballaburn presents itself as the only satisfactory answer.

  I wish you would not follow me, for I have no intention of fleeing the country. Irish has explained the whole of the wager to me and I mean to stay a full year from the date of our legal marriage.

  I go first to Bathurst, for I understand the way is well marked and not far, and should not present a problem to a woman traveling alone. I will take a coach directly to Sydney. When I am settled I will write for my belongings as I could only travel with a few things.

  I do not undertake this leaving without much thought. My decision was not made impulsively or without some knowledge of the consequences. I ask you to consider this when you entertain the notion of forcing my return, especially if it is your pride that demands that action. I have to appreciate the depth of your feeling for Ballaburn and why you would accept all the conditions of the wager to own her. Irish has been unfair to both of us, but perhaps more so to you. He used your desire for the land and your great respect and affection for him and turned them against you. I pray you will not let him threaten you with losing Ballaburn. You’ve won it; it’s yours. I will do my part to see that you keep it.

  I trust you will see that I have done the proper thing. It would serve no purpose for me to remain. If it matters at all to you, I do not despise you, as I wish I might, and I permit myself to believe that you no longer think of me only as a means to an end.

  Lydia.

  Nathan’s shoulders heaved once. He caught his breath on a dry, aching sob and tears burned his eyes but would not fall. Refolding the note, he slipped it into his shirt pocket, leaned back on his elbows, and squinted as he raised his face to the sky. A kookaburra’s raucous laughter mocked him.

  His head moved slowly from side to side in denial and overwhelming futility. Lydia gone. It seemed he had been dreading it forever, so long in fact that beneath the layers of pain there was a sense of guilty relief that it had finally happened.

  He sat up, shivered, and hugged his knees to his chest. How deliberate had he been, he wondered, in driving her away from Ballaburn before she suspected the truth? What had he done to make the very thing he feared happen as if it were determined by fate? And then, what hadn’t he done?

  “I love you, Liddy,” he murmured to the sky.

  Father Colgan peered at Lydia over the wire rims of his spectacles. His hands were folded on top of his neatly ordered desk and he was leaning forward in his chair. The expression in his green eyes was one of grave concern and he listened patiently, without interruption, as Lydia explained her situation.

  “So you see,” she said, “I thought you might be able to help me, if not directly, then by pointing me to someone who can give me a proper position.” The dust of travel was still on her clothes. Lydia tried not to fidget with the wrinkles in her gown but she found herself nervously smoothing the fabric in her lap. It was clear that Father Colgan was interested in her problem and he wouldn’t turn her away cold, but it was just as patently obvious that he was shocked by her defection from Ballaburn. “I’ve promised Nathan I will stay in Sydney for one year and I intend to keep my word. There’s a matter of a living to be earned, though.”

  “Yes,” Father Colgan said thoughtfully. “Yes, yes. Well, you’ve quite given me something to think about, haven’t you? I don’t recall coming across the like before. And you say you don’t want to take money from your father?”

  “No,” Lydia said firmly. “Even if Papa could make arrangements to have money sent to me quickly, I’ve already decided to do this on my own. Foolish pride, perhaps, but there you have it. I’ve always been able to depend on Papa’s money to get me anything I wanted—or get out of any difficulty. I think it’s time I managed on my own. My father will understand.”

  Dark-red brows arching above his eyes, Father Colgan absently pushed his spectacles up his bent nose. “Do you really think so? Irish has waited a long time to support you. I’m not certain what you mean by being able to depend on his money.”

  “I’m not speaking of Irish, Father. I’m talking of my papa—Samuel Chadwick.”

  “I see…I think.”

  “I don’t want anything from Papa or Irish.”

  “And your husband?”

  Lydia’s smile was gentle. “No, Father, nothing from Nathan. I would never ask.”

  “Your mind’s set on independence, then.”

  “Yes. As near to it as I can achieve. Will you help...”

  Father Colgan took off his spectacles, folded them, and set them gently on the desk, glass up. He rubbed his wide brow with a thumb and forefinger. “Your place is with your husband, Mrs. Hunter. I believe that strongly.”

  “I’ve explained—”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “And I’ve listened. It’s only because I’ve known Irish and Nathan as well as any man
can that I understand what’s brought you to this pass. I still say you belong at Ballaburn with Nathan. You loved him when you married him.”

  “Things have changed—”

  “So most of them have,” he agreed, “but not that one. Unless these eyes of mine are much worse than I suspect, you’re still in love with your husband. It’s all right. You don’t have to deny or confirm it. Let this old man believe what he will. In spite of what I think, in spite of what you think, I’m going to help you, Mrs. Hunter.”

  Lydia stopped fidgeting. Her eyes closed briefly as she said a silent thank you. “I lit four candles before I came to your office,” she said.

  The priest smiled. “I know. I saw you.” He clapped his hands together and leaned back in his chair. “Have you an idea of what sort of proper position you would like? Something in a store? A clerk, perhaps? If you have some skill with a needle, then I know a woman who is always looking for seamstresses for her shop.”

  “Actually I was thinking of something here, Father. At Saint Benedict’s.”

  “Here?” He thought about that. “I already have a housekeeper and the sisters see to the church. The heavy work is done by our male parishioners.”

  “I was thinking of the school.”

  “The sisters help me with the school as well,” he said. “Why? Do you have some training there?”

  “Not training, but experience.” She described her work at St. Andrew’s Orphanage to Father Colgan and he listened attentively. “I’d work very hard for you, Father. I did for Father Patrick and he was very happy with what I could do in the classroom.”

  “I imagine he was,” he said noncommittally. “Tell me, have you given any thought to where you’re going to live?”

  “I have enough money to stay at Petty’s Hotel for a few months even if I don’t find a position. I exchanged my…umm…my wedding ring for some money.”

  “I see.”

  Lydia hurried on. “I know a position at the school wouldn’t pay very much, but eventually I’ll find another place to live. There aren’t many things I need, Father. Food and shelter, a few books, and a purpose. I can manage with those.”